by Alix Kelso
“Keith from The Crooked Thistle.”
He nodded and gestured to the free space next to her on the bench. “Mind if I join you?”
“Be my guest.”
Once he’d sat down, she offered him the paper bag of hot chips she was holding. Keith took one and grinned.
“Lots of vinegar, I like that.”
“Help yourself, they always put far too many in the bag.”
They ate the chips and enjoyed the music for a minute, watching people coming and going on Shaw Street. A breeze caught the air, shaking cherry blossom petals from the trees and dusting them over the bench.
“It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?” Chrissie said, flicking the cherry blossoms from her jacket.
“It’s a fine one alright.”
“Are you having a night off from your pub?”
“I just needed a breather.” He glanced her way and shrugged. “It’s been one of those days.”
“Ah,” Chrissie said, nodding. “Same here.”
Keith popped a chip in his mouth. “I’m guessing that means you didn’t manage to get away from your cake shop after I left.”
“It’s my own fault. No one locked me inside and made me work all day. I’m my own worst enemy.”
Keith waved a hand. “Don’t be hard on yourself. It’s not easy to get time off when you run your own business. Believe me, I know.”
“Which is why I’d planned today like a military operation. Just one day and some peace and quiet, that’s all I wanted. I couldn’t even get that much.”
“I didn’t realise the cake business was such a high-pressured industry.”
She turned and Keith saw she was preparing to be insulted. A fire seemed set to spark behind her eyes, making them gleam a little dangerously. But when she noticed his grin, her expression softened.
“It’s not,” she said. “The truth is it’s a lovely way to make a living. Well, except for all the paperwork and accounts and invoices.”
“I hate those too.”
She laughed and ate another chip, then rolled up the empty bag and wiped her fingers with a napkin. “Well, I suppose I’d better get home.”
“Don’t rush off on my account,” Keith said, rising. “I disturbed your peace and quiet. I’ll make myself scarce.”
He was about to start walking when she spoke.
“Actually… listen, the truth is I don’t really want to head home just yet. And I wouldn’t mind a bit of company.” She reached into her bag and a mischievous smile curled at her lips as she pulled out two mini bottles of wine and shook them in his direction. “I’d also quite like to open one of these and enjoy a few sneaky sips while those buskers play that lovely music. But I don’t want to look like some sad old woman drinking on her own on a park bench.”
Keith laughed as her smile grew wider. “You wouldn’t look old, or sad for that matter. And I wouldn’t mind a wee sip myself.” He sat back down and accepted the little single-serving bottle that Chrissie handed him before inspecting the label and twisting off the cap.
“Cheers,” Chrissie said, tilting her bottle towards him.
“Cheers.” He tapped her bottle with his before taking a sip. When the wine hit the back of his throat, he winced. “It’s got a bit of a kick.”
“You can say that again,” Chrissie said, coughing. “There wasn’t much choice in the minimarket when it came to the little bottles. But I didn’t want to buy a full bottle at this point in case I downed the lot.”
“So it really has been one of those days.”
“I actually had a beautiful bottle of wine at home that I planned to open this afternoon and enjoy while I pottered around in the kitchen.”
“So what happened?”
“My daughter happened, that’s what.” She laughed and shook her head. “That sounds awful. She meant well enough, just wanted to cook me a meal to come home to. She opened my wine to add to the pot and managed to spill the rest of the bottle, and then burn the dinner she’d made, too.”
“Ouch,” Keith said.
“I came home to the smoke alarm screeching.”
“Ouch again.”
Chrissie laughed. “Oh, it gets worse. My daughter’s boyfriend decided to help by putting up a shelf in my dining room. We’d only just shut off the smoke alarm and pulled the burning pot from the hob when the shelf crashed off the wall and broke the dishes he’d sat on top of it.”
Keith nodded. “That really is a bad day. I think you need more than this tiny bottle of wine.”
“You might be right. But that wasn’t even the worst part.” She fell silent and gave him a look. “Listen to me moaning. Ignore me.”
“I certainly won’t. What else happened? Go on, you might as well tell me.”
At first she stayed quiet, just staring off in the direction of the buskers, but an odd look soon crossed her face. Keith watched as she seemed to consider whether or not to say anything more, her expression soft and thoughtful, her eyes searching.
“My mother dropped by the cake shop, just before you did,” she finally said. “It turns out she’s entered me into a wedding cake competition. It’s a big event and a big deal in my industry.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“She did it without telling me and the competition’s very soon. Actually, it’s the same day as your friend’s wedding. Even if I hadn’t accepted your cake order, it would still be too much to take on.”
“You don’t want to do the competition?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but looked away before speaking.
“Sorry, I’m sticking my nose in,” Keith said.
But she waved a hand. “It’s not that. I just realised that I’m yapping away to a customer about my personal troubles. That’s bad form.”
“Rubbish. And anyway, once you’re finished with your tales of woe, I plan to share one of my own that’ll put yours to shame.”
Chrissie laughed and studied him, as if trying to work out if he was serious or not.
Keith gestured to her with his wine bottle. “So, what’s the big deal with this cake competition? Don’t you want to do it?”
She sipped her wine as she considered the question. “I do want to do it. Just not right now. It’s something I’d have to plan for and work towards, not throw together in a few days.” Shaking her head, she laughed. “My mother meant well, just the same as my daughter and her boyfriend meant well, too. But sometimes it feels as if they’re all killing me with kindness.”
Keith took another sip of wine. “Is it difficult to pull out of the competition?”
She shook her head. “Probably not.”
“There you go, then. Problem solved. Pull out and think about taking part some other time.”
Keith watched as she thought about this, her expression distant.
“Unless you don’t really want to pull out,” he said quietly.
She turned and a small smile creased her mouth. “You’re right, I don’t really want to pull out. In theory I could spend every waking hour preparing something for the competition. But in reality, I’ve got a family that needs me. My daughter and my little granddaughter mean more to me than a cake competition. And my daughter’s been acting weird lately. She’s never burned a meal before, or caused the kind of trouble she’s managed to cause these last couple of weeks. I don’t know what’s got into her, and I won’t find out if I’m engrossed in a silly cake contest.” She sighed and sipped her wine. “If my bloody mother hadn’t meddled, I wouldn’t be in this mess. I hate knowing I’m going to have to put a black mark against my name and my business by pulling out of this competition.”
“Sorry you’re in a bind,” Keith said. “I’m also sorry that this is the wine you’re drinking while fretting about it.”
Chrissie laughed and looked at the little bottle. “It really is terrible wine, isn’t it?”
“It’s the pits. But I’ll force it down.”
Chrissie grinned and took another sip. “So, wh
at’s your tale of woe? I don’t think it can beat mine, but I’m willing to listen. Seems only fair.”
“It’s true, your story’s better than mine. And mine’s embarrassing more than anything else.”
“So pull me out of my pity-party and remind me I’m not the only person with problems.”
Over by the shelter, the two musicians had finished playing and were packing up for the night. Keith watched as they stowed their guitars and pocketed the money they’d made.
“My ex-wife turned up at my pub today,” Keith finally said. “The man she left me for has ditched her for a younger model and she’s got nowhere else to go, so she’s now in my spare room.”
Chrissie gazed at him, eyes wide. “Bloody hell.”
“Aye, bloody hell indeed.” Keith drained the last of the terrible wine from the bottle. “I was supposed to be going up north tomorrow for a trip to a whisky distillery. I’d been looking forward to it. Needless to say, that’s now cancelled. It would’ve been my first trip away from the pub in God knows how long.”
“That’s a shame, Keith.”
“I could’ve turned Janice away. That’s what I wanted to do. But I would’ve felt guilty, leaving her to fend for herself.”
Chrissie laughed. “We’re quite a pair, Keith. Neither one of us seems able to do what we actually want to do.”
“And there I was thinking that one of the advantages of getting to this age was that you were perfectly entitled to do whatever suited you. Looks like I was wrong.”
The buskers had departed and the twilight was turning to night. Keith checked his watch.
“Anyway, I suppose I’d better get back to my pub. God knows what Janice might’ve got up to while I’ve been gone. It was nice chatting with you, Chrissie.”
“Nice chatting with you too, Keith,” she said and rose from the bench. “And thanks for keeping me company and drinking this awful wine.”
“My pleasure. Well, mostly my pleasure. It really was bad wine.”
She laughed and the streetlamp reflections made her eyes dance and sparkle. It took Keith a moment to remember what it was he’d been about to say.
“Anyway,” he finally managed, clearing his throat, “everybody knows that if you’ve got sorrows to drink away, you do it with a good whisky, not some silly wine. Next time, come to my pub and I’ll set you up with some single malts that’ll make you wonder why you ever wasted your time with this grape juice.”
She laughed again. “I’ve never really been a whisky person.”
But Keith shook his head. “Everybody’s a whisky person, once they’ve found the right whisky.”
Chrissie watched him, seeming to think about this. As their eyes locked, Keith noticed a tiny sprig of cherry blossom had caught in her hair. It took all the willpower he could summon not to reach out and pull the flowers free.
“Well, I hope things go okay with your ex-wife,” Chrissie finally said.
“And I hope you make the right decision about your cake competition.”
A ghost of regret seemed to pass over her face, but it quickly cleared and her smile reappeared. “Goodnight, Keith.”
“Goodnight, Chrissie.”
At the park gates, she waved and walked off down Shaw Street. Keith watched her go, and was still watching when she turned up Fairview Avenue and disappeared from sight.
He shook his head and laughed. “Don’t be a daft old fool,” he muttered. “As if you don’t already have enough bloody problems.”
Turning in the other direction, towards The Crooked Thistle, Keith wondered what he might find there when he got back.
9
The following evening, Chrissie sat at her kitchen table surrounded by looming stacks of paperwork. No matter how much she kept on top of it all, there were always accounts waiting to be wrangled with. And what more could she really want on a Friday night besides a cup of tea and her bookkeeping software?
On the other side of the table lay the envelope containing the information about the wedding cake competition. Sipping her tea, Chrissie peered at it. That morning, she’d planned to contact the competition organisers and withdraw her name. But another busy day at the cake shop had made her completely forget, and it wasn’t until she was closing up that she’d spied the paperwork still sitting untouched by the computer keyboard. In the end, she’d stuffed the envelope into her bag and brought it back home.
All that was needed was a quick email to the organisers in order to pull out of the event. There was nothing complicated about it. She could do it right now, in fact. Her laptop was open in front of her.
Chrissie switched from the bookkeeping software to her email and pulled the envelope closer. As she stared at it, she tapped her fingers against the table. Why was this so hard?
Shaking her head, Chrissie flicked over to her browser, entered a search for the wedding cake showcase site and navigated to last year’s event. There were lots of photographs of the competition, including the winning entry and the runners-up. The cakes looked glorious, every single one of them – creative, elegant and beautiful. They were worthy winners, there was no doubt about that.
Last year’s gold ribbon entry came from Special Days Cakes, a long-established business on the other side of the city. It was famous for its creations and deserved its good reputation. Chrissie studied the designer’s winning cake, a stunning four-tier in pale pistachio icing and decorated with exquisite sugar work of spring flowers along with a curve of white icing designed to look like the sweeping edge of a wedding dress. It was lovely and romantic, and Chrissie knew just how many long hours must have gone into making it.
Yet as she zoomed in on the image, she found herself wondering why the cake designer hadn’t taken just a little more care on the flower edges and whether they’d noticed the slight puckering of the royal icing near the base. A softer shade on the pistachio green icing might have been a good idea, too. And she couldn’t help but think that a more delicate hand had been needed to achieve the polished finish on the piping work that the design so clearly demanded.
The cake was beautiful, there was no question about it. But Chrissie wondered if she couldn’t have made it more beautiful still.
Maybe.
The kitchen door swung open and Alison walked in with Poppy on her hip. Poppy let out a yip when she saw Chrissie at the table and reached out to be cuddled.
“How was work?” Chrissie asked Alison as she handed Poppy over, took off her jacket and set down Poppy’s day-bag.
“Someone called in sick so we had to cover extra clients,” Alison said. “I’m wiped.”
Alison worked as a carer, going into people’s homes to provide them with the personal assistance that let them continue living independently. Chrissie knew her daughter enjoyed her job and loved helping people in such an important way. But it was a pressurised job, too, and the company she worked for sometimes loaded too many client visits on to the carers they employed. On those days, Alison often came home looking the way she did tonight – exhausted.
“Want me to give Poppy her bath?” Chrissie asked. “You could sit down and relax for half an hour.”
“Gregor’s mum already bathed her,” Alison replied as she put the kettle on to boil. “One less thing to do tonight – isn’t that right, Poppy?”
Poppy laughed and tugged at the string of brightly coloured beads Chrissie wore around her neck. Chrissie nuzzled her little face and smelled the lovely bubble bath that Poppy’s other granny used for her. Gregor’s mother was a huge help when it came to childcare, especially as Chrissie’s business meant she was rarely available during weekdays to look after Poppy, and paid childcare wasn’t an option given the eye-watering costs. Chrissie remembered only too well the juggling act that came with childcare, even if her own experience of it was now more than twenty years ago. At least Alison had Poppy’s father’s family on hand to help.
Chrissie watched Alison brew her tea at the counter, stirring the teabag around in the mug.
&nb
sp; “I’m sorry about all the cock-ups yesterday,” Alison said. “It was supposed to be your day of peace and quiet and we managed to drive you out of your own house. I would’ve apologised properly last night, but you were in bed when we got back.”
Chrissie made a face at Poppy, drawing laughter. “Is everything okay?” she asked Alison. “You’ve been so scatty recently.”
“Everything’s fine,” Alison replied, dumping her teabag into the sink and giving her mother a smile. Chrissie thought that the smile looked just as odd and over-bright as it had yesterday. She was about to say so, but something in Alison’s face changed her mind.
“Where’s Gregor?” Chrissie asked instead.
“He picked up an extra shift tonight and doesn’t finish until eleven.”
Chrissie looked at Poppy and made another silly face. “He’s been picking up a lot of extra shifts recently.”
“Well, this one costs a lot of money, don’t you?” Alison said, walking over and ruffling Poppy’s hair. “We need all the money we can get just to keep her in nappies and clothes. I swear every time I buy her something new to wear, she grows an inch the next night.” Peering past Poppy, Alison sipped her tea and pointed to the laptop screen and the cake photograph still displayed there. “That’s nice. Is it one of yours?”
Chrissie shook her head. “It’s the cake that won the competition at last year’s Glasgow Wedding Fair.”
“Ah,” Alison said, nodding. “Gran told me she’d entered your name.”
“Well, she shouldn’t have done something so foolish, because I’m fully booked and I can’t do it.”
Alison stared. “Mum, you can whip up an amazing cake in no time.”
“It’s not just about baking a couple of nice sponges. The decoration takes time, especially if you’re taking part in a competition as prestigious as this one.” Chrissie gestured to the paperwork on the kitchen table. “And I’m behind on my books.”
“I think you should do the competition.”
“Maybe some other time, when there isn’t so much going on.”
Alison nodded and looked away. “Sorry we’re in your way all the time, Mum. We’re trying to get things back on track, I promise.”
